“Any particular news this morning?”
The question was lightly asked but before it was answered the face of Bennet Gage became perceptibly older. A look of strain came into a curiously somber face, as he said, “Did you know that Garland is dead?”
“Dead! William Garland!” It was clear that, for a moment, even the Colossus was taken aback. “Why, I was in his company last evening at dinner at Rockingham House. We had a most interesting, a most informative chat about labor conditions all over the world. He was leaving here on Friday for Australia.”
“Then he may have arrived already,” said Mr. Gage succinctly. “At all events, about half past eleven last night, as he entered the Cosmopolitan vestibule, he fell down dead.”
Saul Hartz was visibly startled. He pursed his lips for a whistle that did not come. “About half past eleven, you say, in the Cosmopolitan vestibule? Why, an hour before I was talking with him in Park Lane, when he was as hale and cheery as you please.”
“Yes, it’s all very mysterious,” said Mr. Gage, solemnly.
It was clear that Saul Hartz was greatly impressed by this piece of news. There was no longer a trace of lightness in his manner when he said abruptly, after a slight pause: “There’ll be an inquest, of course?”
“Oh, yes. The police have already taken charge of the body. But they are extraordinarily reticent.”
“They suspect foul play?”
“There seems absolutely nothing to be got out of Scotland Yard. Verity’s with them now.”